


two syllables

by peeves



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/pseuds/peeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, do you want to know my name?” Ian leaned close again, this time with only one hand against the wall above Mickey’s head instead of two.<br/>“No.” Mickey could smell the alcohol from Ian’s breath.<br/>“I think you do.” Ian took a step closer so his legs were almost touching Mickey’s.<br/>“Yeah?” Mickey forced himself to remain still.<br/>“Think about how much…easier it would be, to moan,” Ian said, voice low. He placed a kiss at Mickey’s jaw.<br/>“Don’t need a name to moan,” Mickey retorted, betraying his resolve as he tilted his head slightly to give Ian more access.<br/>“You sure?” Ian teased, dragging his lips from Mickey’s jawline to under his ear, then down towards his neck. Mickey swallowed, all too aware of Ian’s hips slowly pressing into his.<br/>“It’s gonna take more than that to make me moan,” he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two syllables

**Author's Note:**

> ian and mickey meet at a bar. they fuck. the end.

Today was a Shitty Day. Ian had one of those days once in awhile, maybe more than once in awhile, and it was fine. Sometimes he’d deal with a Shitty Day by sleeping early. Sometimes he’d work out. And sometimes he’d head to the new bar to get fucking smashed.

 

* * *

 

Today fucking Sucked. Lately, every day has Sucked, and Mickey didn’t want to fall back into old habits but decided that the seventh continuous day that Sucked warranted enough drinking to forget the number of days in a week.

 

* * *

 

Ian was enjoying himself for the most part. He bought a few drinks, was offered a few drinks, turned a few people down and kept their drinks anyways. A few hours in, he had successfully achieved his goal. There was a faint pounding in his head, he couldn’t remember anything about his life that he could possibly be unhappy about, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Everything was amazing. Shit, why didn’t people get drunk all the time? He pushed himself off the bar stool, and stumbled towards the bathroom, pushing a few people along the way to empty his bladder.

 

* * *

 

Mickey wasn’t a fan of bars. He didn’t have a problem with them, but he wasn’t a fan, especially of newer bars, where he had yet to solidify his reputation of “leave me the fuck alone and you can keep your fuckin’ face, how about that”. According to the last drunk ass who made a move (“I would honestly let you fuck me up” “Is that your fucking pick up line?”) his tattoos weren’t as efficient as they used to be. After turning down a few randoms, he headed to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, maybe sober up, and head home. He tried the door, but it was locked, and so he slumped against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting in a one-man line.

 

* * *

 

Ian zipped up his pants and washed his hands, peering at his reflection in the mirror as well as he could in his current state. He ran a hand through his hair, grinned at his barely open eyes, and turned around to yank the door open. Leaning against the wall was a shorter man with the prettiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. 

“’Bout fuckin’ time,” Mickey muttered, straightening up. Once he turned to face the door, he was met with probably the only guy in the bar he wouldn’t have turned down. Tall, redheaded, and a type of confident that even intoxication couldn’t blur.

Dumbfounded, with one hand still on the door, Ian felt his mouth open and tried to signal himself to keep it together. 

“Shit,” he whispered.

Mickey arched his eyebrows, confused as to what the hold up was for. As attractive as the redhead was, he was in the way.

“Can I fuckin’ get by in here?” he asked, motioning with his hand and head towards the doorway Ian currently occupied.

Ian finally closed his mouth, only for the biggest grin to spread across his face.

“You need to uh—you wanna get in here?”

Mickey squinted up at the taller man. Unbelievable.

“Sorry, let me try that again,” Ian said, trying to compose himself. He took a deep breath, mentally scolded himself to sober the fuck up, and looked straight into those blue eyes with the least bit of wobbliness he could manage. “You’re hot. We should make out.”

Mickey only raised his eyebrows again, unimpressed. He tried to move past through the doorway, but Ian, with surprisingly quick reflexes, blocked him with an arm.

“Yeah okay, tough guy,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you sober up first, and then we’ll talk,” he promised, with no intention of fulfilling, although he was more amused than annoyed at this point. He tried pushing past again, and this time Ian let him in, turning around in the doorway to face Mickey who was now inside of the bathroom.

“I don’t want to sober up,” Ian said, and launched forward to cage Mickey in with his arms against the wall.

To his credit, Mickey didn’t immediately kick Ian in the balls, but there was a small part of him that definitely wanted to. Instead, he grabbed Ian’s right shoulder with his right arm, and pushed so that their situation was flipped, with Ian’s back against the wall and Mickey easily positioned for escape. He could leave right now, if he wanted to. But as he eased up on keeping the redhead against the wall, and gradually let himself enjoy the chest muscles underneath his hand and the other man’s pretty lips relaxing from the smile, Mickey realized he didn’t want to leave.

He cocked his head, looking Ian up and down, and removed his hand. “How about you close the fuckin’ door?”

There it was again, that shit-eating grin of victory. Ian closed the door and faced Mickey, approaching him again, but slower this time.

“What’s your name?” Ian asked, stepping closer.

“Don’t think you need to know.” Mickey rested comfortably against the wall, arms crossed again.

“Well, do you want to know my name?” Ian leaned close again, this time with only one hand against the wall above Mickey’s head instead of two.

“No.” Mickey could smell the alcohol from Ian’s breath.

“I think you do.” Ian took a step closer so his legs were almost touching Mickey’s.

“Yeah?” Mickey forced himself to remain still.

“Think about how much…easier it would be, to moan,” Ian said, voice low. He placed a kiss at Mickey’s jaw.

“Don’t need a name to moan,” Mickey retorted, betraying his resolve as he tilted his head slightly to give Ian more access.

“You sure?” Ian teased, dragging his lips from Mickey’s jawline to under his ear, then down towards his neck. Mickey swallowed, all too aware of Ian’s hips slowly pressing into his.

“It’s gonna take more than that to make me moan,” he said.

With that, Ian stopped his exploration of Mickey’s neck and leaned back far enough to face Mickey again. It was one, two, three seconds of tension before he dived in to kiss the challenge off Mickey’s face. If he were more sober, he’d have registered how ready Mickey was for the kiss with his mouth slightly open and head inclined. Ian’s right hand left the wall to cup Mickey’s face as he insistently focused on Mickey’s bottom lip before angling his head further to tease with his tongue.

Mickey responded by clutching at the other man’s waist, bunching up the T-shirt fabric in his fist and slightly tip-toeing for more access. Soon, Ian’s other hand trailed down to rest on Mickey’s hip, pulling it closer to him, rocking slowly up against him, establishing a rhythm.

“Fuck.” Mickey tore his mouth away, breathing heavily, entirely concentrated on Ian’s hard on that he could feel through their layers of clothing. He looked down at their joined midsections, and back up at Ian, who was distractedly tugging at Mickey’s shirt. 

“My name’s Ian. Ian Gallagher. What’s yours?” Ian asked

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said gruffly, and pushed the redhead away to yank off his own shirt, sending the message that Ian should do the same. Ian complied, and shot forward to touch Mickey again before Mickey could start on his belt. He ran his hands up Mickey’s arms, gripping at his biceps, and then circled his arm around Mickey’s waist to pull him deeper into the kiss. Mickey rolled his hips against the insistent pressure against his crotch and delved a hand into Ian’s hair, pulling him in, consuming him. Ian reciprocated eagerly, hands now on Mickey’s waist, walking him backwards into the wall before tearing at his belt, shoving his hands down his pants to grip Mickey’s cock.

“Fuck,” Mickey stuttered out, again breaking away from the kiss to catch his breath. He gripped Ian’s shoulder to steady himself, trying not to get too carried away from thrusting into Ian’s hand.

“You can call me Ian, you know,” Ian said with an aura of faked nonchalance. Mickey bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes to avoid Ian’s gaze. Ian gripped Mickey’s cock harder, stroked it faster to get Mickey to lose control again.

“Fuck, _Ian_ ,” Mickey choked out.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ian was incredibly, ridiculously impressed with himself for holding himself back and maintaining some semblance of cool. He deserved a fucking award. Mickey was definitely losing it, but Ian wasn’t far behind, not when he kept his eyes open to soak in every tiny reaction he could get out of the other man.

“This, though,” Ian said, squeezing Mickey’s member, “this is pretty damn hard.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mickey said, struggling to catch his breath, stop himself from laughing, and scoff at the same time. “Mickey,” he breathed, when Ian’s other hand reached behind to grab his ass.

“Mickey,” Ian repeated, slightly preoccupied by the handful of ass he currently held. “Mickey…that’s two syllables.”

Mickey leaned back and knocked his head against the wall, pushing down at his own pants to give Ian easier access. He didn’t notice when Ian sank to his knees.

“So’s Ian, you fucker— _fuck_ ” he broke off into a moan as Ian swallowed him down. This was pure, agonizing torture, Ian thought to himself as he moved his head up and down. He let go of Mickey’s ass to fumble at his own belt, searching for some sort of relief. Fisting at his own cock while licking at Mickey’s, he swallowed Mickey down again and moaned, vibrations causing Mickey to lurch forward, both hands on Ian’s shoulders to push him away.

“Up, off, pants off,” he choked out, forcing Ian to stand as he kneeled to return the favor.

“Oh, shit,” Ian let out as Mickey looked up at him with his cock in his mouth. Mickey quirked his eyebrows and went back to focusing on his job, focusing on the head and making up for the rest of the length with his hand. Ian wove his hands through Mickey’s hair, first stroking lightly, and then tugging insistently upwards.

“Fuck, Mickey, Mick, shit, you have to come up, fuck,” Ian begged nonsensically. Mickey complied, almost reluctantly, standing and facing Ian. The two of them faced each other, breathing heavily, kicking off their pants. 

“Now what?” Mickey was the first to ask as Ian tried to come to his senses.

“Now…um, well, I’m a top,” Ian said awkwardly. “I mean, usually, but if you want…”

Mickey rolled his eyes, impatient. “That’s not what I was asking. There’s no fucking lube.”

Ian’s face lit up at Mickey’s indirect confession, and leaned down to search into his back pocket, and pulled out a packet of lube and a condom.  

“You have lube in your fucking pocket?” Mickey asked incredulously as Ian reached for him, turning Mickey to face the wall as Ian addressed his attention to Mickey’s ass, quickly slicking up his fingers, spreading Mickey’s ass cheeks, and probing at the hole.

“Are you fucking complaining?” Ian muttered, concentrating on fingering Mickey open.

Mickey braced his hands against the wall, slightly leaning into Ian’s hands.

“No—shit, _yes_ , _there_ , fuck,” Mickey grunted. A few fingers later, Mickey could hear the crackle of the condom wrapper, and sighed in relief, head hanging down between his shoulders as Ian, with his hands on Mickey’s hips, eased his way in. 

“Fuck,” they groaned together in unison, moaning as Ian bottomed out. Ian gripped Mickey’s hips tightly and fucked him slowly with measured thrusts.

“That pace isn’t doing it for me, Gallagher,” Mickey provoked, going so far as to crane his head back to raise an eyebrow at a red-faced, sweating Ian.

Ian hesitated, chest heaving, before gripping Mickey tightly and slamming his way in. Mickey moaned again, pushing against the wall to fuck back onto Ian. 

“Fuck, touch me,” he groaned, expecting Ian to instantly comply.

“Thought this wasn’t doing it for you,” Ian replied, voice strained from obvious exertion.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck,” Mickey said, steadying himself against the wall with one hand as the other went down to take care of himself, only to fly back up and brace himself again as Ian pushed him up against the wall, thrusting harder, deeper at this angle. Ian’s arms came around him, fingers interlacing with his own as he continued to fuck Mickey at a pace that was definitely doing it for him, evident from the drawn out moans.

“Fuck, Mick, shit. You’re so good, so fucking _good,_ fuck,” Ian muttered, chasing a release for the both of them, biting at Mickey’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“I swear to God,” Mickey tried his best to spit out, “if you come before me,” he left the threat hanging.

Ian reached down to fist at Mickey’s cock, attempting to match his hurried pace.

“Holy shit,” Mickey said, voice hitching a bit higher as he pushed back and forth harder towards the dual stimulation. “Holy shit, Ian,” he whispered, head lolling back to fall on Ian’s shoulder as he let out another moan.

“Fucking amazing,” Ian groaned, loving the way Mickey said his name, simultaneously wishing he could make this last longer but also craving for relief. He stripped at Mickey’s cock faster. “Fuck, Mick, you have to come, I need you to come for me.”

With a final twist of Ian’s wrist, Mickey cried out, emptying himself into Ian’s hand and falling limp against the wall. A few thrusts later, Ian came with a groan, shuddering through his release. Ian slumped forward, chin over Mickey’s shoulder, wanting to stay there forever.

It took a few moments for the two men, breathing heavily and sticky with come and sweat to regain their composures, and remember they were in the bathroom of a bar. They cleaned themselves and straightened up quietly, without saying a word, slipping out of the bathroom back into the bar and hoping no one could tell two men exited at the same time.

Ian shuffled on his feet, as Mickey scanned over the bar, checking to see if anyone noticed. Awkward silence ensued, until Ian nudged Mickey’s arm.

“So um, can I buy you a drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> that...was....my........first............time.....................writing...........................smut...........................................ever...................... oh my god this is a Milestone for my Life anyways hope it was good


End file.
